


Sonnet, by The Bodie of Avon

by Shayheyred



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M, Parody, Poetry, Shakespearean Sonnets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-06
Updated: 2011-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shayheyred/pseuds/Shayheyred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do I love thee? Let me count the Rays</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sonnet, by The Bodie of Avon

My partner's flies must surely hide a gun  
(Or else there golf balls and a sausage lurk.)  
If jeans be tight, then his are painted on;  
(He knows I stare; he planned it all, the berk.)

If hairs be wires, then his are tangled coils  
In which, no doubt, he houses hosts of fleas.  
His lips I see most often pursed in scorn;  
(I'd rather have him purse them on his knees.)

I love to hear him speak, and yet his talk  
Is mostly blither -- Christ, he sounds a prat!  
Whilst other men may lope or strut or walk,  
 _He_ doesn't walk; he slithers like a cat.

His imperfections make him worth disdain,  
And yet, I love him. Am I, then, insane?

* * *


End file.
